


Never Forget

by kenporusty



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: F/M, cargo ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-27 15:35:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/663625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenporusty/pseuds/kenporusty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin and Erebor always had a special connection to one another, and on the eve of his return, he cannot sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Forget

**Author's Note:**

> I thoroughly blame this song. "Never Forget," which was Iceland's entry into the 2012 Eurovision contest. Once I re-listened to it today, I totally realized that it could be Erebor and Thorin's song.
> 
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zRqmHRbJvTo
> 
> I claim the ship, and I claim the Spirit of Erebor, or at least my version of her.  
> I don't blame you if you hate this. I wrote this while very tired, and my brain was being unwilling to not go flowery on me.
> 
> Wholly un-beta'd.

Thorin Oakenshield curled on himself in the oddly comfortable beds of Lake Town as moonlight danced across the floors at the base of the bed. Sleep would not come to the King in abeyance. The stress and tension of the quest wanted to melt away with the comfort of the bed, but something kept the weight about his shoulders and chest. He hoped his company was sleeping. They would depart for the Mountain early.  
With a sigh, he levered himself from the bed, crossing to stare out the window at the peak visible on the horizon. She was so close, and yet so far away. Erebor. The Arkenstone. That calming voice he heard when he was young that came to him when he needed an ear. The soft, oddly cold strokes across his cheeks as he fretted over his position as prince and heir and the lack of beard on his young chin.  
He heard the song now, the words older than time, drifting across the lake on moonbeams. She was singing to him, calling to him, letting him know she was there, but bound to the mountain.  
The spirit of Erebor.  
She sang of the dawn, of what the day’s light would bring. The hope she felt stirring in the souls of those she once watched, and many new faces she did not know. She could not find the Arkenstone. She could not reason or talk to the dragon. She felt smothered, and suffocating with the dragon. She felt lost. She wanted them back.  
She wanted her dwarves back. She wanted to hear the laughter of dwarrow, the scolding of mothers, and the ring of the hammer of the craftsmen again. Sixty years was too long for her to be alone, although she slept for generations before the arrival of the dwarves.

Thorin cannot sleep. He paces the room, listening to the distant song, his mind replaying the crystal-clear memories of that terrible day. He remembered spotting the drake as he blew down from the north, yelling at his subjects, his family, and his friends and mentors. He remembered the terrible sounds of death and wanton destruction. He remembered the Elves turning their backs last minutes as his people fled their home, injured, confused, and in chaos. He remembered everything as if it happened the day before yesterday.  
She yearns to touch his cheek and tell him to come home finally after such a long time.

As Thorin is flees his home, he takes enough time to run a finger along the stone walls, bidding the Spirit to come to him. She belongs to him as much as he belongs to her. He feels her come, her arms wrap about his shoulders, and the drapery of a gossamer dress enfolds his body. A chill spot comes to his forehead where she presses against him. His lips tingle with a chaste kiss. She has always served him, and he has served her as well as he could.  
He bids her do not forget, he tells her he will come back, and promises that Erebor will be rid of the intruder when he returns. Silently she acquiesces with a lingering sensation of cold that thrills the prince to the core, a sensation that follows him to the great gate but goes no further.  
She belongs to him and he belongs to her.  
And she sits where the Arkenstone used to reside as the moon creeps higher into the night sky, lost in the memory of a goodbye that felt like the day before yesterday.

Across the world, the sunlight breaks over the ocean, chasing away the dark and the shadow. Closer to Erebor, the sun reveals the location of the hidden door. The thrum in Thorin’s chest grows louder, more powerful, with every step towards the mountain, and as he laid his hand upon her shoulder for the first time, he feels the gossamer embrace, and he knows.  
Through all the years, she has remembered him, and he remembered her.


End file.
